Remember Me
by summertime-nephilim
Summary: The man woke up surrounded by tall stalks and burnt grass. Strangely enough, there had been a meteor that very night- but the man didn't know that. In fact, the man didn't know anything. Not even his name. Found by a man named Wyatt, "Buddy", as he names himself, sets out to find the owner of the one name he can remember. "Sam". Please R&R!


The world was sleeping as the meteor came crashing through the sky. It seared a golden path through the darkness, momentarily blocking the stars from sight. Surprisingly, not a single person awoke, not even the young child in the farmhouse nearby- something strange, considering that, for an instance, the night was day. If anybody had been watching, they would have seen the fireball streak overhead, low, until it was nearly to the horizon. They would have seen it crash, heard a crunching noise as it burrowed into the cornfield just west of the nearest barn.

But, of course, nobody was watching. And by the time morning came around, there was nothing there but slight burn marks. Strangely enough, the stalks were bent in a peculiar shape. Something long and narrow, a small gap between the two arched sections. Something that looked suspiciously like wings.

* * *

The man woke up surrounded by tall green stalks. He stood up shakily after leaning over to his side, then winced as his shoulder blades brushed gently against a stray leaf. Running his finger over his back, he though perhaps he might have been injured. He couldn't remember.

Come to think of it, he couldn't remember anything. Not his name, not his family (if he had any, something told him he didn't). Nothing. He slowly sank back down into the dirt. His face fell as he tried to recall something, something important, something… ah, yes. He had lost something. Something very, very dear to him, something- he couldn't remember anything else.

He tried to fall asleep, feeling strangely calm. Sleeping felt unnatural, like he hadn't done it before. Though, he supposed, he hadn't really done anything before. _A clean slate. A second chance._ The words resonated deeply with him. He didn't know why.

The next morning, the man decided something. He awoke, though it was more like coming up for breath, then stretched his back. It felt too light. Then he began to force his way through the field, taking care not to step on the stems or heads of corn.

By the time he made it out, the sun was high and burning his neck and shoulders, sweat dripping to his eye and stinging it. He found his vision swimming, the speeding cars ahead of him blurring into a mass of swirling reds and blacks. The man let loose a short, wistful laugh as he leaned casually against the guard-rail. A smirk formed on his face. He wasn't sure what he found funny. _This world, maybe._

* * *

He awoke to the silent twilight of the morning, finding himself on the grimy highway side. After shakily climbing to his full height (not very tall, he noted), he stretched his back and took a deep breath, then began picking his way through the small shards of broken glass and torn tires that littered the road.

The expanse of concrete stretched in front of him for what seemed like forever, and the heat rose in shimmering waves in front of his feet. He tried not to think, preferring to concentrate on his movements. _One foot in front of the other. One foot…_ It was close to noon when a car finally pulled up beside him.

The truck was a dark green, so caked in mud and dust it seemed almost brown. The man caught a fleeting glimpse of a pair of eyes, similar in color, but they disappeared almost as soon as they had arrived. He shook his head slightly to clear his vision, then watched as the window rolled down and a voice came from inside.

The man winced as the noise hit him, making his head throb and small spots appear at the corner of his vision. "Are you coming in or not?"

He stared blankly at the small opening, straining to see inside. An exasperated sigh was heard, and the man stumbled back in surprise as the peeling door opened and another man stepped out. "My name's Wyatt. Now, are ya' coming?" Wyatt grabbed the man's hand, half-dragging him inside. "Sorry 'bout that. What's your name?" The man vaguely noticed that he was being talked to. It took a few more seconds for the words to register.

"Name?" His tongue felt dry in his mouth, and his voice sounded slightly raspy. He tried again. "I- I don't know." The words sounded alien. He wondered if this wasn't his native tongue."I don't know. I don't remember."

He glanced around, noticing the dirty burger wrappers and discarded cigarette packs haphazardly perched on the backseat, the layer of grime that seemed to cover everything in this car. Wyatt included. "I don't remember anything." Wyatt glanced at him. They sat a while in silence before the driver spoke again.

"Nothing?" he sighed. "That's a real shame." The nameless man looked down, slightly ashamed.

"I'm sorry." His voice cracked as he spoke. Wyatt grabbed his hand again, almost enveloping it. He looked back up, alarmed. "Wh- What are you doing?"

"There's nothing to be sorry about. We'll get ya' sorted out. Now, I'm gonna call ya' Buddy, is that all right?" Wyatt released Buddy's hand and, after gently ruffling his hair, began drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, a strangely friendly expression on his face. The wind began to whip Buddy's face as the windows were cranked open, and he could barely hear the scratchy radio over the sound of the open road. _Everything's going to be alright._

After some time, Buddy looked out and saw the gray blur he had been staring out at for the last few hours begin to slow into individual buildings. Wyatt squinted as he turned into a small side road, carefully easing his beat-up pickup onto the uneven dirt. Blinking out of his almost-stupor, Buddy struggled with the seat belt release for a few moments before Wyatt reached over him clicked it open loudly.

As he stepped out, he nearly fell down before he grabbed ahold of the door handle. After a few minutes, he was safely inside of the small wooden house. Wyatt guided him to a nearby sofa, and that was when Buddy realized how very tired he was. He had barely touched his head to the pillow when his eyes began to close. He would worry about everything later.

* * *

Wyatt watched as the strange man fell to sleep almost immediately. He was glad Buddy was somewhat short and able to fit on the couch easily; he didn't have any other bed. Stepping quietly as to avoid waking him, Wyatt softly sank into the chair opposite him and watched. He wasn't sure what had made him help this man.

Usually he wasn't one for picking up the homeless, but there was something about Buddy- His posture, like he wasn't sure what he was. His eyes, almost out of hope. Wyatt wondered what he had seen that had left him so empty.

Then there was what had made his open the door in the first place. His eyes _weren't _out of hope, though by every right they should be. After all, the poor guy had just lost his memory. Instead, there was a strange fire in them; something almost alien, just on the edge of the humanity. Something ancient. Something worth fighting for.

He laughed it off, though. Buddy was just a guy with amnesia. Sure, Wyatt was positive he had seen some crap nobody should ever see. Maybe even crap nobody ever had. But he knew somehow that this man was… safe.

As he watched Buddy from across the room, Wyatt found his own eyes drooping. As the house fell into darkness, all that was heard was the soft rise and fall of the two men's breath.


End file.
